Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.
Still, I would not have thee cold,
Not too backward, nor too bold;
Love that lasteth till 'tis old
Fadeth not in haste.
Love me...
|
Ah, God, the way your little finger moved |
It's such a little thing to weep, |
Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and... |
Out of the focal and foremost fire, “Take him and welcome!” the surgeons... |
’t is but a little faded flower, |
A little while (my life is almost set!) A little while I fain would linger yet... |
“when queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench.” |
I don’t go much on religion, |
O little town of Bethlehem, |